


The Teacher, The Student, And The Mandalorian; Guide To Become A Family

by Miscellaneous_Ace



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Protective!Din Djarin, Teacher!Corin AU, child abuse from previous teacher, clear trust issues, rewrite of Corin's Almost execution (the first one)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miscellaneous_Ace/pseuds/Miscellaneous_Ace
Summary: Din has always trusted his foundling. Not with anything very important, of course, but he knew when his foundling wasn't curious about someone in a way that disregarded his safety entirely he could not trust that person as far as he could throw them.So when he is tasked to find a new teacher for the youngest members of the covert, how could he ever disregard the teacher who seems to gain his son's affections? He couldn't.Hopefully it works out for the best.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 172





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Learning about more than combat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441135) by [Clarimonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarimonde/pseuds/Clarimonde). 



> Guess who decided to go down the Mandorin rabbit hole and find faemself completely enamored with this AU? This bitch, that's who.  
> So, yeah, now we're stuck in this together... with... with all my other WIPs staring judgingly....  
> It's gonna be super fun!

It had been two standard years since he had taken the child, his foundling, back from the imperial scum who had hired him to retrieve it, and had been running ever since.

It had been nearly two months since he had killed the man responsible for his foundling, his child, his ad’ika, being in danger. The man who made the Mandalorian feel like prey, which was quite the oxymoron. The Moff who had placed the bounty on his child in the first place. 

It had been nearly three weeks since Din Djarin had, finally, settled back into his tribe who had long since relocated from Nevarro. 

It had been three weeks since the razor crest had been landed, hopefully indefinitely, at the new location of the covert, of his home in a wandering tribe. He has found his home once more in new tunnel systems, once used by smugglers from long ago, that now housed his tribe. 

He had been three weeks grounded, and he hated it. Something was wrong, and until three days ago he hadn’t placed it. His people were not the issue, though Paz and Raga always found a way to get under his skin, and though the itch to keep moving hadn’t left him it wasn’t anything that was wrong. No, he hated it here because his child, his ad’ika, had not been himself.

He had assumed, at first, that perhaps seeing their pursuer killed in cold blood in front of his big dark eyes would be it, but his ad’ika had been mostly unchanged on the flight back to the covert (a little more tired, but he had had to keep a whole battalion away with his powers so Din couldn’t fault him), and besides it wasn’t the first time he had seen his father kill, so that wasn’t the reason.

His ad’ika was usually so bright, his dark eyes so big as he tried to take in everything around him all the time. He was so curious, all the time, and though Din had cursed that curiosity more times than he could count (when it got them into trouble), he’d never wished his son to be absent of it. Now he was faced with an ad’ika who would rather stay curled up in his father’s arms than be anywhere else or see anything else. Which so unlike him it made Din worried and on edge. 

This wasn’t even to mention the sudden sleeplessness of his ad’ika. Sometimes he was full of energy and fun and couldn’t bring himself to rest, but that didn’t last for the whole night and it had never left his ad’ika jumping at the tiniest noise or looking through doors every few minutes before he went back to bed. He had thought that maybe his foundling just wanted to keep moving as much as Din did, so he took him on a few trips on the razor crest but he was mostly unchanged in his sudden demeanor. No, nothing had helped to ease his foundling’s distress and Din was on edge with it. 

This eclipsed three days ago, when Din had had his first day off since coming to the covert and had had to drop off his child to the care of his teacher. Before this he had entrusted the hand off to Paz, who reported that his ad’ika was just as desperate to stay with his uncle as they had been in his place. Faced with that same situation, however, Din’s guts twisted up.

His ad’ika clung desperately to his armor and cape, whining every time Din so much as looked at his teacher. 

The old man was an outsider, taken in recently to care for all the children of the covert that were not of age yet. He was there to teach them basic motor skills, maybe start to try and teach them how to read and write. Generally, however, he was just a glorified babysitter as far as Din was concerned.

So why was his ad’ika  _ desperate _ to keep him away? 

Eventually the older man reached out and plucked his child from Din’s grip and the wail of protest was no less than what his ad’ika sounded like when Moff Gideon had had him in his clutches. Running on pure hot fury Din stole his child back and slammed the man into a wall, definitely breaking something. 

“You do not take my child from me,” He growled, “No one does.”

The old man’s eyes were blown wide and he nodded curtly. Din pulled back and looked down at his ad’ika who was looking up at him in pure awe, as though he hadn’t expected Din to do that, before tears began to spill down his face and he snuggled into Din’s cape. The Mandalorian couldn’t even be bothered to care that there was definitely snot there now. 

He looked around the room to find all the other ad’ika staring at him with that same awe, that same stunned shock. He frowned in confusion,  _ why are they looking at me like that? _

He thought back to his child, so wary and scared that something was always around the corner in no way he had been while they were on the run. It was… it was strange. It was wrong. His ad’ika wasn’t like that. Even when he was terrified, he wasn’t like that. 

These children were his clan, his tribe, he knew many of their parents personally. He remembered them vaguely from before he was a father himself. They were curious too, and they knew without doubt that they would be defended. Without hesitation.

_ So why do you stare at me like that? _

He looked to the man through his peripheral vision to find him glaring between the other children and his child.  _ Don’t you dare say anything _ he mouthed which made his ad’ika curl closer into Din’s cape, hiding his face, and every foundling, without fail, dropped their gaze immediately. 

He whirled to the man, a cool fury simmering through him, “Come with me.”

The old man blinked up at him, before he frowned in confusion, “Where? Why? What about the children?” He waved his hand towards them and Din didn’t miss most flinch, including his ad’ika.

“They will come too,” Din replied, no room for argument in his tone.

The old man continued to frown as he turned to the children, “Well? You heard the man. Up.” 

They scrambled to get up, all standing in perfect lines that made Din sick to his stomach,  _ What have you been teaching these children? _

He nodded and walked with the man, sure to keep pace with him as he led them through the covert to the battle ring. Inside were Paz and Raga, battling. They waited a few minutes before the two called a truce at seeing their brother in arms.

Paz approached with a frown that was clear even through the armor, “What’s happening? Why are the ad’ika here?” 

Din didn’t answer, he simply shoved his ad’ika into Paz’ arms before shoving the old man into the ring. The small children gasped in surprise and lined the edge of the ring, all trying to get the best sight. 

“What are you doing?”

“What did you do to them?” Din snapped, “Why is my son terrified of you, when Moff Gideon didn’t even make him flinch? Why were they surprised when I stopped you from taking him from me? Why is every Mandalorian child in your care acting like damn storm troopers?!”

The crowd that had grown from Raga and Paz’ battle gasped and leaned forward to listen.

“I-I don’t know!” The old man answered, his eyes widening in fright.

“Yes you do,” Din snapped, slowly circling the old man like he was his prey, “You know exactly why this is the case.”

Maybe Din was sleep deprived… he hadn’t been sleeping any better than his son. Maybe he was delirious.

“He hurts them,” Came a firm but little voice that caught both adult’s attention.

Maybe he was right.

The child that stood before them was the tallest of all the ad’ika, though she didn’t even reach halfway up Din’s thigh. Her bottom lip trembled at the attention, but she jutted her chin out defiantly anyway.

“He hurts them all. M-me too. No matter if we do anything right or wrong. At first, it was just for the naughty kids. Now, it doesn’t matter.” She swallowed, “He has targeted your  _ vorpan ad’ika _ recently. He is just a baby, but he is so strong. So brave.” Tears began to fall down her face, “He stopped him from hurting my little brother. H-he kicked him for it. W-we tried… we tried to stop him.” Her shoulders and she sobbed softly.

“She lies!” The old man snapped, “All of them! All of them are liars! I have done none-”

Din’s hand snapped around the old man’s throat and he held him aloft, “Why would I ever believe a lying scumbag who hurt my child? Why should I let you live for what you have done?”

The old man gasped and choked, clawing at Din’s hand desperately.

“No, give me one kriffing reason. One reason you should ever be allowed to breath the same air as our ad’ika?”

“P-pl-please!” The man gasped out.

Din growled and threw his across the ring, suddenly there was an arm wrapped around his chest.

“Din, Din stop,” Paz said firmly.

“Let me go! He needs to die!” Din screamed.

Raga stood in front of him, “He will, Din. He will. But She must know. She will decide.”

Din growled, “He doesn’t deserve another second.”

“He doesn’t deserve a merciful and quick death either,” Raga snapped, “Let the armorer decide what to do with him. He has not wronged only you and your foundling.”

That made Din pause. That was true. There was a soft coo next to his head and he turned to find big black eyes staring at him.

“Oh ad’ika,” He whispered, deflating and reaching for his foundling who curled up into his neck as he held him softly, “I’m so sorry, I should have known sooner. I should have… I should have protected you,” His voice cracked and his shoulders shook, “I’m sorry.”

His child drew back and headbutted Din’s helmet, before whining at the sudden pain.

Din let out a sad laugh before gently rubbing his son’s head and when he seemed to recover and pressed his helmet to his child’s forehead. The child squealed happily, the most joyous noise he’d made in the past few weeks, and hooked his claws into the visor a little to keep Din from pulling back.

Paz let go of his hold and stomped over to the old teacher who he pulled up harshly by the arm, and began to escort out and to the forge. All the older Mandalorians followed to watch the trial, except for Din who stayed glued to the spot and whispering soft promises to his child.

Eventually, when he had calmed and his son let go of the helmet and curled up in the crook of Din’s arm, there was a tug on his cape and when Din looked down there was the little girl who had spoken, brown eyes huge with tears brimming.

“You believed us?” She asked, her voice wavering with her own disbelief, “You believe me?”

He slowly knelt down to level her with a long stare before he cocked his head, “Why wouldn’t I believe the truth?”

She gasped and tears rolled down her face as she sprung forward and hugged him tightly, careful of his foundling. He heard sniffling and looked over to find the other tiny foundlings all sniffling and gaping at him. He opened his other arm up and they rushed forward, tiny hands gripping him desperately on all sides.

“We will always believe the truth,” He assured them, “Never be afraid to tell the truth.”

“Even my buir?” One pressed against his side under two other children asked, eyes wide and hopeful. 

Din melted and stroked a gloved hand through his hair, “Especially your buir.”

They all began to sob and wail, he tried his best to console them but it was little use. Their tears were of relief, however, so though the scene was heartbreaking he couldn’t find it in himself to tell them to stop, so he just continued to assure them of what he always knew. This was their tribe, and they would always be protected, it was just that sometimes beskar made adults a little too dim to realise what they had to protect them  _ from _ . 

After answering many sniffling questions, and purposefully ignoring all the snot and tears staining his cape, a wave of Mandalorian parents rushed into the arena, the news had been spreading like wildfire. 

Upon spotting their parents most of the children left the cuddle pile that was Din Djarin. Many others didn’t even see their parents until they were right beside them and were pulled flush against familiar breastplates. The rest needed to be pried away with Din’s assurances that it was ok, and that they should let go. 

Eventually, he was free and slowly stood, rocking his now sleeping child. 

Several parents looked at him in clear gratitude that they didn’t know how to express, and he didn’t know how to receive. He opted to look at his son, his sweet and curious and friendly and  _ strong _ ad’ika, who defended another foundling. His sadness and guilt was washed away with pride.

A hand clasped his pauldron and looked up, startled, to see the tallest girl settled on the hip of her father.

“Alleia told me everything,” the other Mandalorian said, Din swore he had once fought this man for a bounty almost a decade ago.

Din’s breath hitched and tears formed in his eyes, “I’m sorry,” He gasped out, “I’m sorry for what he did.”

“ _ I _ am sorry,” The other Mandalorian countered, his own breath hitching in a way Din knew they were both struggling not to cry for their children, “I am sorry that I didn’t see this sooner.” He gently rested his helmet against his daughter’s forehead, “I knew something was… well, she was acting strange. They were all acting strange. But I never thought…”

Din shook his head, “I had thought it was something else entirely. I just… had you dropped her off?”

“She would cry and try to stay with me, as would her brother,” He replied nodding behind him to another Mandalorian who was clearly sobbing as they held a boy half the size of Alleia but looked exactly the same, “My buir said that was completely normal. I thought it was normal…”

Din nodded, “I know what you mean. It… if I hadn’t been on edge I doubt I would have thought differently…”

The other Mandalorian reached out and pulled Din into a firm side hug, “But you did think differently, and for that I am forever grateful.”

Din nodded and returned the hug. Small hands grasped his pauldron and pulled him a little closer so Alleia could press her forehead against the side of his helmet.

“Thank you,” She whispered.

He leant into her forehead, “You need not thank me for doing my duty.” He drew back and looked to her father firmly, “This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Every Mandalorian parent answered, some voices wavering with their clear upset but it was a vow nonetheless. The children’s tears were renewed.

Din looked down to his child, who was fast asleep. He must’ve been exhausted.

The old man, now taking a special place in Din’s  _ most hated _ list (which placed him only a little higher than Moff Gideon), had been branded an enemy of any and all Mandalorian with a deep burning mark on his cheek (as he had especially liked to slap any child that so much as spoke out of turn across the face) and had been beaten senseless by any Mandalorian who had issue with him, which had resulted in most of his bones broken, his legs especially shattered, before he was shoved off of a ship into the centre of a town their sister tribe resided in to die on impact. He was given the most disrespectful burial possible, managed by their sister tribe after being informed of his crimes. To any who knew him, he had just disappeared, and rumors spread that just increased the fear surrounding the Mandalorians, surprisingly however some of these rumors rang true.

Now, two days since the confrontation, Din found himself in the forge, requested by the armorer who had sent Paz to retrieve him. His child was happily sat on Paz’ shoulder, well away from the forge, while Din was knelt respectfully waiting for the armorer to address him.

Eventually she turned and sat down before him, staring down at him, “You were the one to find grievance with the ad’ika’s teacher. Warranted, or no, Din Djarin, that makes you responsible for finding them a new teacher.”

“I understand.” Din answered, though he didn’t quite. What made him any good at picking a teacher?

“Since you are unfamiliar with this location, however, I have asked that Paz aid in your search. We had been desperate when the last proper teacher left us, and that choice was clearly costly. I ask that you chose wisely before we entrust the education and safety of our ad’ika to another.”

That he could understand, “It will be done. I only ask why you would entrust this decision with me at all.”

“You found the issue lying with the last teacher in a way no other had, Din Djarin. Hindsight has opened their eyes, and made them wary. We are not a people who open easily to outsiders, you know this, so when our trust is broken with one it is broken with all. You, however, will find someone who we can trust once more. They will trust your judgement, as will I.” She took a pause, before her voice took on an amused lilt, “Asking the most skilled bounty hunter Greef Karga has ever known to find us a teacher would be wise, yes?”

Din bowed his head, slightly flustered, “I will do as you ask. Are there time parameters?”

She hummed, “The ad’ika will need someone to care for them within the next week. The covert will need their parents to continue to provide for us after that, which is impossible with an ad’ika under their arm.”

Din raised his head.

She shook her head, “I am aware that you have been doing so for quite some time, while on the run, but it is not the way.”

Din nodded.

She nodded back, before standing and turning back to the forge.

He stood and walked out with Paz hot on his heels.

“Quite the hotshot, your dad is,” Paz teased as he looked to the child, who answered him with a garbled response, “I completely, ad’ika. Though you shouldn’t be using those sorts of words! You’re only little.” The child glared and garbled something else in protest. 

Din sighed, and took his child back, “Would you stop? We have a job to do.”

“Ooh,” Paz grinned, clear through his tone, “What are you gonna do? Interrogate every teacher from here to Nevarro? “Have you ever hit a child? Would you ever hit a child? Do children like you?” How do you think that is going to go?”

“We won’t find  _ anyone _ if we don’t start looking,” He snapped back.

Paz gasped dramatically, “By the beskar, did I hear that right? Has becoming a father finally made you smart?” 

Din growled and Paz laughed gleefully.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time For A New Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, Ace is back at it again with the Teacher AU. only took me nearly 3 weeks lmao, so pretty good posting schedule compared to usual.
> 
> But yeah, finally happy with this chapter, so hope you like it! :D

Surprising no one, Din took this mission intensely seriously. 

Paz had thought he would go up to every preschool teacher on the planet and question them endlessly, but at least that would give him a criteria to look for too. Instead he just stood intensely behind Paz as the larger Mandalorian too to asking questions and concerns, ad’ika curled up against Din’t chest. 

From teacher to teacher he was unchanged. Some of the more daring teachers asked if it was alright to hold the child, but there was wails of protest whenever they approached and Din was quick to draw his blaster on them until they backed up again while he comforted the child.

It was a little dramatic, but Paz couldn’t fault the little one or his father for their reactions. The pair had been greatly wronged and hurt by a teacher, and now were surrounded by them. Their wariness and violent reactions to sudden approaches were completely warranted.

That didn’t make Paz’ job of interviewing the candidates any easier, especially when immediately after this same reaction he was dragged away. 

Once they’d searched the entire planet, which had taken two days thanks to the razor crest, they returned to the covert and reported their findings to the armorer. Paz implored one of the Mandalorians to become the foundling’s preschool teacher, as that would be the simple solution to find someone trustworthy. The armorer had shut that down with some nonsense about tempers that Paz was too mad to listen to properly.

Following that lecture she had issued them off-world to continue their search on the sister planet, Rakkaus, of the one they currently occupied, Alskar. 

They were walking into their third village on Rakkaus in their search at present.

“Can’t you just give me a  _ hint _ for what you’re looking for?” Paz growled at his brother in arms.

Din was silent, rocking his child gently in the crook of his arm as they walked. The child in question was snuggled happily against his father’s beskar plated chest, watching the world move past him with wide brown eyes, but he made no effort to move.

It was a strange image to those walking past, a Mandalorian being so soft and gentle. 

It should’ve been a strange image to Paz too for different reasons, obviously seeing a Mandalorian softly handling a child was completely normal to him, in fact it would be a much stranger image to see a Mandalorian manhandling a child. 

No, it should’ve strange to see this specific Mandalorian handling his child with such careful, gentle, movements. He was one of the most feral and unhinged of their tribe if his turn as the last to take his revenge on his ad’ika’s abuser had been any indication. Hands that had shattered the man’s entire left arm, snapped his legs in sickening angles, dislocated his hip and broke his back, now gently rocked his child. The vambrace that had been responsible for severely burning half of the man's body pressed to his son’s back to hold him up. 

If Paz wasn’t a Mandalorian he might’ve been unsettled by that idea, but he was quite aware what all Mandalorians were capable of when their aliit was threatened, and so he held no fear from his vod’ika’s revenge. Instead he held slightly more respect for the smaller Mandalorian because of it.

Paz sighed in suffering at Din’s silence, the only answer he received to his inquiry, turning away only to hear screaming and blaster shots ahead of them, out of sight.

They paused in shock, before Din quickly maneuvered his ad’ika to his modified birikad, which more resembled a basket lined with fur that was attached to his backplate, hidden under his cloak that his ad’ika could be dropped into easily. 

With that done the two Mandalorians raced through the village, weapons drawn, towards the noise.

As they drew closer to the ruckus Paz pulled Din into an alleyway and activated his sen’tra, carrying his vod’ika and vodu’ad up to the roofs above them to see the commotion on the other side. What they saw first was a huge fire.

A building was placed away from the rest of the town in a rather deliberate way that seemed to be a trend with schoolhouses on the sister planet thus far, and stood ablaze. 

There were five figures, clearly hostile, and two dead bodies along with a kneeling man head pulled back harshly by his hair. A group of children watched on, stuck to the spot in horror and by the blasters aimed at them too.

Paz chuckled at the scene. He’d been looking forward to his next dance with trouble, and this seemed quite the tango.

Din sighed in resignation as Paz flew higher overhead to get a better vantage point on the hostile figures below. He slid onto his stomach to keep out of sight, drawing out his blaster to properly assess the scene that fell before him, waiting for it to inevitably turn to shit. 

There were two figures laughing merrily as they threatened the group of children, though mostly at the older children who stood protectively in front of the ad’ika beside there. Both of the figures’ skin was as red as the planet’s dust, and spikes framed their gaunt bug-like faces. They looked near identical, even for being of the same species.  _ Twins, _ Din concluded.

Three other figures stood by the dead bodies and a man that was clearly supposed to follow suit. They were of the same species as the twins, that was for sure, the same red skin and spikes framing their faces were dead giveaways. 

The furthest from the twins was stout and round, their face more square and drawn down, their jawline near invisible as it molded into their neck. 

The next closest was tall and lanky, with longer horns and spikes that curled and poked into their face, they seemed like a teenager to Din despite being the tallest of the group. 

The last figure at the center of the scene was more burly than the others, of average height, with thick spikes sticking out of their head. They had deep anger lines set into their face, which suggested a lifetime of annoyance and frowning. 

Before the burly insect-like humanoid was the last living adult of the scene, knelt down with his hair pulling his head back painfully to look up at the sky. Blaster pressed to his temple.

_ An execution, _ Din concluded, before his gaze snapped to the group of children across the clearing. Disgust and fury curled up in his chest as he realised that they were forcing the children to watch the execution of their teachers. He pointed his blaster towards the burly figure, ready to stop him when movement beside the kneeling man caught Din’s eyes.

There, on the teacher’s knee, were clawed hands gripping fabric softly. A soft, wary, smile was on his ad’ika’s face, and he was definitely cooing in confusion at the situation.

_ Ad’ika no! _ He thought first as he scrambled to sit up and jump down after the little escape artist,  _ Oh, Ad’ika, please not him! _ He thought next as he paused to instead re-aim his blaster towards the burly figure with new motivation.

Ad’ika looked up to Din, and purposefully pressed his face to the kneeling man’s knee.  _ Yes, him, _ the gesture almost seemed to answer. 

Din was too stressed to sigh, and that stress skyrocketed when the burly figure caught sight of his ad’ika and said something Din didn’t catch. Then he pointed his blaster towards his ad’ika.

“What the kriff is that?” Corin’s soon-to-be executioner asked no one in particular. Corin’s breath hitched as the blaster was removed from his temple and, presumably, pointed at the tiny thing currently attached to Corin’s thigh. There was a soft coo of confusion.

A blaster echoed through the clearing.

Corin was about to cry out in alarm and distress at the potential of a child, ( _ only a child! _ ) dying in this clearing alongside him, but the protest died in his throat as the man who was to be his executioner dropped dead beside him instead of the child. The grip in Corin’s hair disappeared and he immediately took the opportunity to look down to find a green child staring up at him. The little one looked to the dead body beside them and began to hiccup through a sob, green ears drooping with realisation. 

“Oh, hey, shh, it’s ok, it's ok now,” Corin started, wishing to every lucky star in the universe that he wasn’t cuffed so he could comfort the little one properly, he settled on just using his words, “You’re ok, little one. No harm done,” He paused, “To you.”

The child sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of a clawed hand. He couldn’t be more than two years old, he was so little. Corin’s heart broke at the mere idea of the little one lying dead instead of his assailant.

He looked at the scene around him. All of the asshole supposedly-vigilante humanoids around them were staring stunned at their fallen leader.

There was a thud through the ground as someone landed before them. It was a man, big and burly, with blasters drawn. It was a good thing Corin was an ex-stormtrooper and used to work at the academy, as he was well versed in reading the emotions of those around him without seeing their faces. Which was very helpful as he was faced with a blue Mandalorian who’s every line of his body read  _ pissed. _

Fear crept into his chest as his breath caught in his throat.  _ What did I do to deserve Nikto and Mandalorian bounty hunters after me? _

The child cooed up at him curiously, claws digging slightly into his pants, but Corin had his eyes on the blasters. Relief flooded his system as they were pointed up, away from him and the child. Suddenly shots sounded around him, whizzing past him. 

On instinct he dropped onto his stomach, shielding the child with his body. 

With his face pressed into the red dirt, he could hear the thundering rush of tiny feet as his students fled the scene, and the more solid steps of his assailants running for cover in the equipment outside the children used to play in. 

The shots still sounded around him, and a few hit the ground which sprayed sand and dirt onto Corin. Corin’s entire body tensed around the tiny from beneath him, reveling in claws digging into his stomach as that meant the child was still alive.

_ Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, don’t hit him, _ he pleaded, though he doubted luck would answer well. Still, it was all he could do with his hands tied. 

He waited through the shouting of his assailants, of both instruction and the fury at their comrades falling dead, and through the constant barrage of blaster fire. 

Corin ears started ringing as a blast sounded next to him and dirt sprayed up over him with the sheer force of it. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut as a shield for the child. His lungs burned with the sudden rapid breathing that didn’t nearly fill them, and when the ringing ceased his ears pounded with the sound of his heartbeat. 

He didn't know how long he lay like that, but he reeled back when a  gloved hand grasped his shoulder. He slammed his face into the face of his new assailant only to fall back again with a cry of pain at the starburst of pain through his face, and blood gushing from his nose.

“Well, that wasn’t very smart,” Came the dry reply from another Mandalorian. He was smaller than the first, but was still terribly intimidating despite it.  _ Multiple Mandalorians?! I got the attention of multiple Mandalorians?! _

“I-I see that now,” Corin wheezed through the pain and fear.

The Mandalorian huffed, Corin suspected in amusement at the sound but that couldn’t be right because Mandalorians weren’t  _ amused _ with their former-imperial quarries.

The moment was broken by an inquisitive coo from the child and Corin’s gaze immediately snapped down. He was more red than green with dirt now, and a little squished, but otherwise uninjured. Corin sighed in relief before his gaze snapped back to the Mandalorian to glare fiercely and lean low in front of the child to protect the little being.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” He growled, and he knew he must’ve looked completely feral with how the Mandalorian leant back, “I’m not afraid to die, Mando, so there is nothing holding me back from protecting this child.”

The Mandalorian relaxed at his words, the exact opposite reaction Corin wanted, before he drew his blaster. Corin leant even further in front of the child and closed his eyes, accepting his death but refusing to back down from protecting the child. 

There was a noise of the blaster firing, but the pain never hit. Instead, his hands were suddenly free. He opened his eyes as the Mandalorian holstered his blaster and scooped up the child swiftly before Corin could do anything to stop him.

“Good job, ad’ika, I see him,” The Mandalorian praised the child who squealed happily, clapping his hands together, “But please,” He whispered, sounding terribly vulnerable suddenly as he leant forward and pressed the metal of his helmet to the child’s forehead, ignoring the streak of Corin’s blood staining it, “Never ever do that to me again.” 

Corin gaped as the man’s entire body shook, realising the scene that fell before him was not a foreign and hostile figure finding a child with his ex-Imperial quarry. This was a father being reunited with his son after a moment of extreme danger and the subsequent relief of that fact. As a bringer of bad luck, and a teacher, he’d seen this scene a hundred times before.

“He’s yours?”

“Yes,” The Mandalorian answered, a little strangled with emotion, before he drew back and seemed to compose himself, “My terrible little womp rat.” Though the tone was sharp and annoyed, there was a fondness in the Mandalorian’s voice. 

The child only grinned and cooed up at his metal coated father, happy to be addressed and completely unaware of the insult he’d just been called. 

Corin’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded, “I see.”

The Mandalorian looked up at him then, “I owe you my gratitude.”

Corin frowned, “For what?”

The Mandalorian cocked his head, “For protecting my child during this brawl. You used your body to shield him, without a second thought. I thank you for that.”

Corin flushed, “Oh, no, there’s no need to thank me for that. I would’ve done that for any child."

"Is that so?"

Corin nodded, frowning at the Mandalorian's tone, "Yes, of course. I am a teacher, it is my duty to care for children, and protect them from harm,” He paused and looked at the child, “Even those not entrusted in my charge.”

“What of those that are?” 

Corin, for his part, was probably concussed after that headbutt. Maybe that was why he answered the bounty hunter immediately instead of doing the obvious and looking for an escape. 

“I would die for any child in my care.”

The Mandalorian seemed pleased with that answer for some reason, looking to his son and holding him a little tighter, “Bor’jatyc, ad’ika. You chose well.”

“Chose?” Corin asked with a frown, “What did he choose?”

“You,” The Mandalorian answered simply. 

“Me? For what?”

“You need a new job, yes?” He gestured to the schoolhouse.

Corin’s gaze drifted over it, silently mourning for his student’s precious works lost to the flames, before slowly his gaze drifting to the dead bodies of his principal and the secretary, wincing in sympathy at their rotten luck. “I suppose so,” He replied warily.

The Mandalorian seemed like he wanted to say something more, and might’ve thought better of it until his child started reaching for Corin, crying out a little when he was still in place. Corin reached for the child, gaze flicking to the t-visor of the child’s father in permission, which was answered with the child being gently placed in Corin’s arms.

This seemed to spur the Mandalorian into saying what he meant to, “There is a Mandalorian tribe on Alskar in desperate need of a teacher for our youngest children. Our foundlings. It is a job that would require great wariness and a steel determination to protect our little ones.” The child’s ears drooped and he snuggled into Corin at the change of topic, seeking comfort the teacher happily provided by rubbing the little one’s back, “They were hurt recently in an act so despicable I cannot speak of it… it has set every Mandalorian, child and adult alike, on edge.”

Corin looked up at him, “And I passed the job interview?” He looked down, “Because he chose me?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good system to me,” Corin points out, “Entrusting the safety and education of your little ones to a little one.”

“He has never been wrong,” The Mandalorian replied sharply, “This time is no exception, as far as I can tell.”

“But he chose me.” Corin pointed out.  _ A deserter of the imperial academy that housed me for so many years. Not to mention my rotten luck. I am bad news, Mando. _

He didn’t really know why he didn’t say these things, the bounty hunter would have to know these things, right? And he would be losing his pay out by giving Corin this job, surely? It had to be a trick.

“He did,” The Mandalorian agreed, “Which is why I am offering you the job.”

“There has to be someone better,” Corin pleaded.

The Mandalorian shook his head, “We searched all of Alskar before this, and then two villages here before yours. You are the only one he has trusted to be anywhere near him, and the only one I have trusted anywhere near him.”

“Why? Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you. I trust you won’t hurt my child after you protected him,” The Mandalorian provided, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world, “And he trusts you. That is enough.”

“But you don’t me at all-”

“Your duty is to the protection and care of children. You would throw yourself into harm’s way for any child, and would die for those in your care. I know you are perfect for this job.”

Corin flushed a little at the praise, shaking his head, “Yes, but that doesn’t make me a good choice-”

“Your references are quite dead. Do you want the job or not?”

“I do!” Corin exclaimed, eyes wide in realisation as to what he just said and how… true that exclamation was, “I’m just not sure it’s… it’s a good decision on your part.”

“We’ll see.” The Mandalorian answered.

Corin frowned deeply at the Mandalorian and he was about to say something more to try and discourage him, but he was cut off as the larger Mandalorian approached with a thunderous step. Corin leant back slightly, his grip on the child tightening reflexively, his eyes blowing wide in instinctive fear.

The large Mandalorian dropped into a squat and laughed, “Oh, you cheeky son of a bantha!” He clapped the other Mandalorian’s shoulder jovially, “This was your criteria? The entire time?”

“I trust his judgement,” The lithe Mandalorian answered simply.

The blue armored man laughed with an understanding nod as he grasped Corin’s bicep suddenly and pulled him to stand. He seemed somehow even larger than Corin had originally thought, all muscle and height and amusement.

“Well, new mirsh’nynir-” 

He didn’t finish his statement before he was lying on the ground, the Mandalorian offering Corin a job pressing a boot to the other’s shoulder.

“Teacher,” He snapped harshly, “Never use that word for him, Paz, or you will be six feet under before you can  _ blink _ .”

The larger Mandalorian, Paz, wheezed, “Alright, alright. I hear you.”

The other Mandalorian nodded firmly and removed his boot. Paz stood back up and brushed out his cape, pointedly annoyed.

Corin smiled at the scene softly before his attention was enraptured by a confused coo from the child in his grip. He looked to his side where the child was cocked a little on his hip only for his eyes to blow wide in horror at the blood covering the child’s front.

“No!” He screeched, tears forming in alarm as he held the child up and did a more thorough search for injuries.

Suddenly there was a firm hand on his shoulder and the child was plucked from his hands, not-Paz was staring at him with concern was clear in every line of his body, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s bleeding!”

The Mandalorian looked to his child, then looked to Corin’s side, “No. You are.”

Corin blinked and looked to his side, and sure enough there was a blaster wound in his side, blood oozing thickly from the charred blaster wound. How did he miss that?

He collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (if I missed any you're welcome to tell me in the comments)  
> Ad'ika = Little One  
> Vod = Brother/Sister/Comrade (Mate)  
> Sen'tra = Jetpack (Yes. Mando'a has a word for Jetpack. I was Very Excited learning this)  
> Vod'ika = Little Brother/Sister  
> Vodu'ad = Nephew/Niece/Nibling (technically made up/fanon, but it works grammatically so I like it.)  
> Birikad = A child harness, as described in fic  
> Bor’jatyc = Good Job/good work  
> Mirsh’nynir = brain beater is the direct translation, but it's loosely used to refer to a teacher.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of setting up. Not yet off Rakkaus. Yet.   
> (Corin and Not-Paz sure have... a Dynamic though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up on only two week update this time! Woop! Achieve!!

It was dark, Corin knew that. He didn’t know much, couldn’t remember much, but the darkness was familiar. He tore from it’s embrace every so often for words and sounds to grace his senses and to resurface in his memories when he started to think again. They were disjointed, clipped at the edges, plucked from time and that made them incomprehensible to his brain.

“Is that Mr Corin?”

“I can’t get him anything for the pain, it’s going to hurt.”

“Come on, come on, you’ve got a job to do, come on!”

“Mr Corin wake up, please.”

“Come on, you’re better than to let  _ this _ bring you down.”

All underlined with the crying of a child, sniffling and weeping. 

“Get up. Please, get up.”

That one caught his attention. It was closer than the others, nearly a breath away, and it wasn’t plucked from time, it was said moments ago. Seconds even.

It was stronger than the other words too, urgent, authoritative.

Who was Corin to deny a command?

Slowly he regained more of his senses. The sheer blank darkness retreated for the familiar sight of the back of his eyelids, the white pinpricks dancing across his vision. 

The weeping of a child had given way to soft whines and whimpers from a nearby source that seemed terribly close. Perhaps it was from the weight against his chest. 

There was a clean sort of smell surrounding him, it wasn’t a familiar scent but Corin identified it quickly as the smell of disinfectant and a care unit. 

His mouth felt like it was both filled with cotton balls and completely dry simultaneously. He licked his lips to find them cracked. He winced at the feeling.

The last thing he noticed was the sheet, tightly tucking his body into the bed. The last thing before the pain was suddenly on his radar, sharp and hot in his side. He hissed at it, immediately reaching to press his hand to it, only for his hand to be caught in another.

His eyes snapped open to meet the increasingly familiar gaze of a t-visor. The t-visor of the Mandalorian who was not Paz.

“You’re awake,” He noted, dry and to the point.

“Seems that way,” Corin replied, coarse and harsh. He tried to sit up against the pull of the sheet, grimacing when the movement sent a sharp pressure through into his cheekbones and sinuses, and a flare of pain across his stomach. 

A hand pressed against his chest, keeping him flat against the surface he was laying on. “Take it easy,” The Mandalorian grumbled. “Don’t need you getting any worse.”

Guilt shot through Corin's chest. He had already caused so much trouble. For the children, for their families, for the two Mandalorians that had clearly taken him in and to this care unit at some point. If they knew better, they would have left him behind in the ashes of the old school house. Corin knew they would be better off in the long run. If they left him here, parted ways now, maybe they wouldn’t end up like the secretary and the principal of this last school.

Corin was a harbinger of bad luck. There was no denying the trail of devastation he had left behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” Corin said. Words that felt hollow on his tongue, repeated so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

He’s said that same little phrase over and over again whenever his bad luck finally caught up with him again. When everything began to go wrong, and trouble nipped at his heels again. When he had to move, had to keep running. When he had to leave behind another classroom of sad faces and irritated parents, leaving them to find another teacher. 

_ I’m sorry.  _

The words had never made anything better, never eased the constant guilt he carried with him. Never eased the anger, the sadness, the load. They just slowly lost meaning to him, but were the first thing off of his tongue anyway.

Corin swallowed down his shame to hazard a glance around the room to find Paz looming in the doorway and a crowd of frightened children huddled against the wall, watching him warily, he looked back to the Mandalorian, “Where are we?” 

“You got shot,” Not-Paz said blandly. “We weren’t just going to leave you there.” 

The child that once lay on his chest had slid into his lap after Corin’s failed attempt to sit up. Corin noted the green of his large ears, and huge brown eyes staring at him with no small amount of relief. So the little had really gotten through that fight unharmed. He reached up and stroked the child’s ear to be answered with a happy coo before the child started trying to climb back up to Corin’s chest. 

The Mandalorian scooped up the child and held him tight, preventing him from escaping and hurting Corin now that he was awake. 

Corin felt he might’ve done the wrong thing, in touching the Mandalorian’s child, so in lieu of a response he looked over to the kids, avoiding eye contact with the Mandalorian.  _ Did it still count as eye contact even through a t-visor? _ Corin thought to himself as he warmly smiled at the children, welcoming them to approach.

They immediately rushed forward to crowd his cot. Corin counted and noticed a few of his class was missing. Hopefully they were safe.

He lifted a hand to brush through the unruly curls of his oldest student, Ysat, a bright eyed red-head that had lost her mother too soon. Corin had always had a soft spot for her. “Everyone alright? That was pretty scary huh?” 

One of the younger children, Malia, no older than five, clutched at his hand. “We were so worried, Mr. Corin!” 

Corin rubbed her hand comfortingly, “It’s ok to be worried, but I’m fine now, see? Perfectly taken care of. I’ve gotten up from worse,” He grinned with a wink. 

The children giggled in amusement, but Corin could feel the Mandalorian behind him bristle for some reason. 

He ignored Not-Paz in favour of looking up to Paz who was still taking up the doorway, “I need to call their parents.” 

Paz scoffed in amusement, “Already done, Teach. Don’t think anyone could miss that cloud of smoke. A lot of parents already came to pick them up.”

Corin smiled in thanks and turned back to the children. “Nothing left to do but wait then. You guys can do that for me can’t you?”

The children all jumped to answer, eager to assure Mr. Corin that yes! They would behave, of course!

Corin smiled, growing weary already after only a few minutes awake. The pain in his stomach was growing stronger with each breath, the ache in his cheekbones turning to sharp pinpricks with each twitch and smile. As much as he loved the children, he can’t help but be grateful when Paz herds them from the room so he can get some much needed sleep. 

Corin collapsed with a huff back against his pillows. He let his eyes drift closed, enjoying the quiet. He was beginning to drift off again when there was a sudden rustle and clink of metal from his side. Corin peaked open an eye and flinched back when he found fingers way too close to his face.

The Mandalorian grumbled, and Corin settled down again. “You need your injuries checked. The bacta needs to be replaced...” The Mandalorian said this mostly to himself, a reminder.

Corin jolted at his words, almost sitting up in his surprise. “You wasted bacta on me? That stuff is expensive!” 

With a rough hand on his shoulder, the Mandalorian pushed him back down and stared down at him appraisingly; Corin could almost feel the Mandalorian’s eyebrow raise. “Then would you stop moving and wasting it? You reinjure yourself, and I’ll have to buy more.” 

Corin wanted to protest, wanted to insist he didn’t need it at all, but when fingers suddenly brushed against his wound at his side, all arguments died with a hiss of pain. 

The Mandalorian grunted hotly, as though to say “Exactly my point.” He lifts up the edge of a bandage and hums in disapproval at whatever he finds. 

The Mandalorian, Not-Paz, stood then and tucked the kid against his hip. “I’ll get the doctor. Get some rest. We’ll be heading back to the covert as soon as you’re healed.” 

Corin swallowed thickly as he nodded. Sleep, now sleep he could do for now. Everything that followed could wait.

  
  


The doctor came and went. Corin only half-awake and unable to protest when new patches of bacta were spread across his wounds. He fell fast asleep almost as soon as he was left alone. 

The next morning was filled with another round of checks and then, surprisingly, the doctor cleared him for regular activity. 

“I’m healed? That fast?” Corin poked and prodded at what remained of his wounds, unable to believe what he was seeing. The empire never bothered with bacta for troopers, and teachers at the academy didn’t find need for it and long before that Corin’s father would prolong the pain to build his tolerance. 

The Doctor hummed disinterested as they poked at a data tablet. “The wonders of bacta,” They droned. Their gaze snapped to Corin suddenly, barely restrained anger hitting Corin hard with it, “You’d know that if you ever came in here,  _ Mr Corin. _ I heard all about  _ the tree incident _ from my daughter.”

Corin winced, looking away in shame, “It wasn’t so bad…”

The doctor glared fiercely before turning on their heel with a huff of annoyance and walking out.

Corin was alone for only a matter of minutes before both Mandalorians shoved their way into his room. Instinctively, Corin ducked his head. He was sharply reminded that they still intended to take him back to their tribe. 

He had heard stories about Mandalorians. How dangerous they were. How much they hated outsiders. Every cautionary tale told of how bloodthirsty and ruthless they could be. 

Yet these two had treated Corin with nothing but generosity and kindness, even offering him a job. That wasn’t even to mention the gentle way Not-Paz had held his child. It went against everything Corin had known to be true. 

But what of the others? Were there others who the rumours were about? Were there others who wouldn’t take so kindly to a stranger in their home? Teaching their children? What would they think when Not-Paz revealed why Corin had a bounty on his head? How he had been Imperial? An ex-stormtrooper for kriff’s sake.

What would happen when the tribe learned who he really was? 

Corin almost wanted to say no, to back out, to run the other way. 

The thought made him feel sick. He was so  _ tired _ of running. Always jumping from planet to planet. Never having a real home for himself. That's all he had ever wanted. Somewhere to belong. 

He knew he wouldn’t find it with the Mandalorians, that was inviting bad luck to strike, but maybe he would have enough time to get back on his feet. Have enough time before his luck turned again, and they inevitably kicked him to the curb.  _ Or worse. _

The kid reached out from his place on the Mandalorian’s hip. Corin looked up and waved to the child but didn’t dare meet the intimidating glare of the visors of his guardians. 

Not-Paz took a step forward. “How are you feeling? Are you ready to go?” 

Corin swallowed.  _ No.  _ “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He put on an uneasy smile and took a deep breath, before he stood and looked between the two Mandalorian’s. 

Paz nodded, turned, and led them from the room without another word. 

They walked quickly back towards the ashen heap that used to be Corin’s school house. 

Corin knew the road well, so he frowned at the Mandalorians, “Why are we going back?” 

It wasn’t like any of his meager belongings that were within the schoolhouse could have survived that fire. And everything he’d actually want to keep was in his room at the hostel.

“You have some people who want to say goodbye,” Paz said over his shoulder. 

Corin’s heart dropped. He was almost hoping to avoid that this time around. Saying goodbye, the teary faces and disappointed eyes, was always too much for him to take. It broke his heart and this time would be no different. 

Disappearing was always easier. Corin could hide from the pain he felt, the constant ache and reminder that he would always be  _ alone.  _ That he didn’t belong anywhere. That no matter how much he wanted to stay, he never could. 

Without a goodbye, Corin could ignore all that. He could force it into the dark parts of his mind and pretend he was happy with the life he had. He could pretend he was grateful to just still be alive. 

Because truly it was a mercy that luck had let him live this long, right? He couldn’t ask for more. He could never chance asking for  _ more. _ His father and uncle had died wishing only for more.

So Corin would learn from their mistakes, and be grateful. Grateful for every blesséd student that luck graced him with the delight of teaching. 

A firm hand on his shoulder drew Corin out of his internal thoughts, and Not-Paz looked at him in… Well, it certainly couldn’t be in concern, that didn’t make sense, no he looked at Corin in annoyance. He’d not responded, and had practically stopped with how slow he’d been walking.

“Sorry,” He said quickly, “Thank you.”

The Mandalorian grunted with a nod, though the look didn’t really let up even as he turned away, and they continued around the corner to regard the school, or what was left of it. 

The bodies from the brawl and impromptu execution had been dragged off and disposed of. Corin imagined the school-house wasn’t far behind. There was a small crowd of children waiting for him by the rubble. His eyes started to burn and the goodbyes hadn't even begun.

“Mr Paz told us why you have to leave,” Ysat said softly as they approached, holding her chin up in an expression he’d seen a hundred times before, a child determined not to cry, “We understand.”

“We don’t like it though,” Malia cut in, curling around her comfort blanket, singed from the fire, “We want you to stay. Please, Mr Corin, can’t you stay?”

The tears felt hot and heavy in his eyes but he had to keep them from falling just yet, to instead kneel down to the children’s level, “I’ve already put you all in so much danger, I couldn’t ask to do that again. I couldn’t ask your parents to trust you in my care when I bring… such bad luck everywhere I go.”

Malia’s bottom lip wobbled and she pressed her face into her blanket to hide her tears. Corin’s heart broke at the sight and he quickly gathered her into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered, “I’m so sorry it has to be like this.”

There was a bit of stomping and Corin looked up just in time to see a bag filled with burnt belongings dumped in front of him. Caalin stood in front of him, arms crossed and looking away. He was a sweet boy with a hero complex, not much younger than Ysat. 

“What’s this?” Corin asked softly, curious.

“It’s what my dad and I could recover from the fire,” Caalin answered sharply, “Everyone else got all of their things from what we could find, and we decided to give you this.”

Corin regarded the bag, now realising it was Caalin’s school bag. He smiled softly, before he reached forward and tugged Caalin into a hug, “Thank you. You’re my hero, Caalin.”

Caalin was rigid a moment before he collapsed against Corin and began to wet Corin’s shoulder with tears. 

“It’s ok to cry,” Corin assured when the boy shook trying to restrain the sobs trapped in his chest, “You’ve been through so much, and now this? Even a great warrior would break down in your place. These Mandalorians? Would completely shatter if they’d been through what you’re going through, Caalin. Crying doesn’t make you any less brave, and strong.”

Caalin broke with that, wailing into Corin’s shoulder. Corin, for his part, simply swayed as he held the two crying children close, refusing to shush them or whisper assurances that he had no way to know were true. So he swayed and held them tight in the hopes that that would be enough.

Slowly his class began to break apart in their resolve not to cry. Corin carefully opened his hug to each of them. Ysat, ever the strength in his class, gently pulled away those who’d had a long enough hugs and gently helped them calm their sobbing. They continued breaking off into little groups to comfort one another still though. Corin smiled proudly at them, both relieved and devastated that they didn’t have to rely on him or comfort.

Ysat was the last to step forward. She enveloped Corin in a tight hug before he could say anything, her body shaking with the effort behind it, and likely her own restrained sobs. Eventually she pulled away too, but only far enough to grip Corin’s hand purposefully, tightly, and press an Imperial credit into it. 

His breath caught before his tears finally spilled down his face. 

It had been his wages from the week after the death of Ysat’s mother. He’d given her the credit that week, with a little lesson on the forces of luck. That there was good luck, and bad luck, but they needed to strike a balance. He’d taught her how someone’s luck could change at the flip of a coin, but it would always balance out. Where there had been bad luck, good luck was sure to follow, and vice versa, in an elaborate dance that nobody could really comprehend.

“Good luck,” She whispered, before drawing away fully and wiping at tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.

He wiped his own eyes and held the coin tightly in promise. “Good luck to you too, Ysat,” He whispered, though it cracked in the middle.

She waved him off with a laugh, “Oh no, Mr Corin, you’re the one who needs it.”

He chuckled with a nod before slowly getting to his feet, tucking the credit into his pocket discreetly as he did so. “Thank you, thank you all. You’re the best class I’ve ever had, and I will miss you terribly. Please take care of one another.”

The children looked up, a few of their voices caught on sobs again, but they generally returned the favour with a chorus of adoration and promises to visit him, wherever he ended up.

With that, and his own promise of visiting whenever he could, which seemed a little more likely to come about, he turned back to the Mandalorians.

Not-Paz cocked his head a little as he looked at Corin, “Is that everything?” 

“No,” Corin answered quietly, “The rest of my things are at the hostel.”

“Then what did the kids give you?” Paz asked, curious.

Corin shrugged with a smile, “Memories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really proud of this chapter, mostly because my darling friend Tatum from the Mandorin Server (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Tatum/pseuds/Tired_Tatum) blessed this chapter into creation, with my guidance and help and she just... made the words... do the go.   
> I love her so much, and if you haven't looked at her Beautiful amnesia Au or LORD FORBID the Coraline Au!! You are Missing Out.
> 
> All my love, Tat! Thank you so much!! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> And there is the first Mammoth of a chapter. T'was 8 pages long. Just, a behemoth.   
> Hope you liked it :)


End file.
